Fang's Return
by TheShadowhuntingDemigod
Summary: It's time for Fang to come back to the Flock. Maya's dead, and his gang has dissolved into traitors and weaklings. But if he returns to the Flock... will they even accept him any more? Will Max forgive him? He had opened a gap between them and he could only hope that she was still within reach. He had to try.


It was dark. Fang was nothing more than a shadow. He crouched beside the tree, his hands out in front of him. His slim fingers wrung around his wrists where the skin had become red and chafed. The desert air was warm, even at nightfall, and not a sound drifted through the air. It was questionable silence, even in the middle of nowhere.

Fang lifted his charcoal gaze to search the surrounding area. His raptor vision was, perhaps, not as strong as it could've been in full daylight, but it served its purpose- there was no one around. He shifted forward, his wings fluttering. He scanned the vicinity once more before going back to wringing his wrists. His gang was gone. He had betrayed the flock. There was no one he could turn to. Fang had never been dependent on anyone- _never-_ at least, so he had thought. Now he realized just how much he depended on them all… depended on Max.

Her face rose to the front of his mind for the millionth time that day. He rubbed his eyelids with the back of his hand, trying to push it away. He had left her- had left Max, his best friend, his sister, his… he didn't know. They had shared years together, not all of them happy. And now, within the last few months, he had led her on, had kissed her and held her and made her believe that he would be there for her. But he hadn't. He had left. Again.

Now she hated him. Fang had seen the way she dodged his questions, avoided his gaze. He had also seen the way she looked at… the way she looked at…

Fury flooded Fang's chest and stained his vision red. Blood rushed in his ears and he gritted his teeth. He had seen the way she looked at Dylan. That oversized, arrogant, two-year-old coward. He was nothing. He didn't deserve Max. He didn't even deserve the way she looked at him.

But neither did Fang.

The anger was quickly replaced with regret. Fang had thought that leaving the flock would save them, but it had done nothing more than get them in even more trouble. He had known that deserting Max would leave a gap between them, but he didn't think it would last long. He also didn't think he would ever see her again, which had been a painful struggle inside of him, but eventually he decided that her life was worth more than his happiness. What he had forgotten about was Dylan. Fang had been there, on a nearby rooftop, when Dylan and Max were atop the Arc de Triumph. He had seen Max fighting back tears and it was all he could do to keep from flying over and comforting her. But then came Dylan, with his ocean-blue eyes and perfect blonde hair; it pissed Fang off that it was still perfect even matted down by rain. He had seen them, and the way their lips met and slid over each other's, slick from the downpour. And the way they held each other like there was no one else in the world for them to think about. Fang had been up and gone in a flash by then. He wished he hadn't seen it all.

Blood tinged his hands where his nails had dug in. he sighed and pushed hair from his face. He was jealous after that. So jealous that he thought Maya would help heal his pain. That she could replace Max. Technically, she was created to replace Max, but that wasn't what he meant. It was just… the way her lip curled when she laughed, the spray of freckles under her chocolate eyes, her dirty blonde hair… it was all just like Max. And it was stupid of him to think that she was. It was even stupider that he let Max know how he felt about Maya, when really he didn't feel that way about Maya, but about Max.

_Max, Max, Max._

He had toyed with her, and she deserved better than that. Even Maya deserved better than that. Now Maya was dead and Max despised him and it was all Fang's fault. And maybe a little of Dylan's too. That wasn't that point. There was a stone in his heart that weighed him down, that made everything bright seem a little darker. He didn't know what to do. Dr. G-H was going to destroy the world and Fang was going to be alone when it happened.

He shoved his head in his hands. There was only one thing _to _do, he thought. It didn't matter if Max hated him or if he hated Dylan, what mattered was that they saved the world, else everything the flock had gone through these past months- no, everything the flock had been _born _to do- it would all have been for nothing. They would be failures and have nearly seven billion dead people to prove it. Nowhere in Fang's mind could he see failure, not if he returned to the flock.

He debated in his head the other options, but from the beginning he knew this would happen. And he to be honest- he ached for it. There was a bruise inside his chest that pained him a million times more than actual bruise on his chest. He knew what he wanted, knew what he needed. But would what he wanted even be there for him to want anymore?

Fang shook his head. He had to do it, no matter what. It was settled. He would go back.

Fang knew where the flock was. They had been hanging out in Colorado for a while and would doubtless be there still, unless something terrible had happened. On his way over, he stopped by at a drug store, made a few purchases, and set off again. His pitch black wings flapped through the thin night air. They were like raven's wings, except fourteen feet wide. Fang adjusted the backpack placed so carefully in the center of his back as to not disturb his wings. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt; like always it was black and splattered in mud, dirt, and dried blood. As he approached the Rocky Mountains, he suddenly became self-conscious of the tattered stated of his clothes. He wiped dirt from his pants and shoved his finger through the hole over his stomach, as of that would somehow stitch it back together.

He gave up with a frustrated grunt and focused on flying. The wind was cool on his face, but for one of the first times in his life, the wide open air didn't make him feel free.

It didn't take long for him to locate the glint of flame from behind a copse of trees. He smirked, knowing that this was no usual campfire, but more likely a bomb set off by the hands of a blonde little boy and a blind guy. Gazzy and Iggy.

As he flew closer, his stomach flipped backwards into knots and loop-de-loops. He steeled himself the way he did before a fight and circled lower around the clearing, landing not far away, but out of sight. He leaned up against a tree and waited. A few minutes later, Max slid behind the line of foliage and took a few steps into the forest. She was silent. Fang couldn't see her face but he knew it was furious. He took a tentative step forward.

"How could you?" Max's voice was quiet. There was no tone of anger in it. Only disappointment. Several moments of silence passed between them. "Do you even dare?"

Fang pulled a tub of ice cream from behind his back. "I brought ice cream."

He could sense Max glancing at it and then back at him. "Fang… if this was something that a carton of ice cream could fix, it would've been over long ago."

Fang dropped his gaze. He had known that might happen. He replaced the ice cream and took another step toward her. "Max…" her name warmed his throat and sent a thrill down his spine.

"Don't." She demanded. "I want to know; why did you come here?"

He thought about it for a second. "Saving the world isn't enough?" When she was silent he took another few steps forward, crossing the distance between them. "Then I came back for you, Max."

Her breath caught in her throat. Fang reached forward and took her hand, warm in his own. He hoped that if he surprised her then it was a surprise she appreciated. "You don't know how long it's been eating me up inside that I left you. Once was enough. I know that now. I should've learned my lesson the first time, but I was stupid, and I guess I didn't." He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers, softly, taking pleasure in every moment.

Max raised her other arm and put it on his shoulder. He still couldn't see her, but he could feel her, warm and sweet-smelling, like a batch of fresh-baked cookies. Fang leaned his neck forward and rested his forehead on hers. He looked directly into her eyes and searched there, in the darkness for the chocolaty brown he had always loved. He rubbed his thumb over the smooth skin on her cheek, surprised to feel damp on his fingertip.

He quickly realized she was crying. She backed up a few steps, slipping out of Fang's reach. His arms fell limp to his sides and he tried taking another step forward but her voice froze him.

"Stop," she whispered. "Don't- just…don't." She looked up into his eyes. Fang remembered when they had been the same height, and she didn't have to look up at him. "Fang why are you really here?"

He was at a loss for words. He thought…but…

Max sniffed. "If you really cared about me, Fang, you would know that this hurts even more than if you had just stayed away."

No. He hadn't known that. He felt stupid now, as if coming back was entirely pointless.

"I do care about you, Max." He insisted. "I- I do."

"Then why didn't you think about me?"

Fang massaged his temple. This was all going terribly wrong. He had thought that she would be mad, but not… disappointed. Now what was he supposed to do?

He turned around and picked up his backpack. He slung it over a shoulder and unfurled his wings, "I'll go then."

He started walking, waiting until he could find another clearing where he could take off from. "Wait," Max called.

Fang stopped dead in his tracks, delighted and afraid that she had called him back.

"Fang, this isn't just about me," her voice was surly now, more like the Max he was used to. "This isn't even just about the flock. This is about the world. Try to understand that." He turned to look at her, her face hidden in shadows. There was nothing he could say. He turned around again and leaped into one of the tall trees, using his wings to propel himself upwards.

When he perched at the top of the tree, he heard Max's crunching footsteps back into the camp. They paused, having noticed something on the ground behind her. She stepped toward it and picked it up. It was a rose. He had picked it up at the drug store, thinking about Max. She looked down at it, cradling it in her hand. Fang reached into his backpack and dropped the carton of ice cream down. It landed beside her foot with a thump and she looked up at him, realizing he was still there.

"I wouldn't leave," he said, sensing her thoughts. "Not again."

Max looked away, then grabbed the ice cream and thrust herself up to the treetop beside him. She popped open the lid and looked around. "Great job, moron, you forgot the spoon."

Fang retrieved two spoons from his backpack. "You don't know what they sell at the drug store." He passed one to her and they ate in silence. After it was nearly empty, Max glanced at him. "I'm sorry." She said.

Now he was utterly confused. "Sorry about what?"

"Not being a good friend. I was jealous, back in Paris. I thought… I thought maybe you had replaced me with Maya. And I got jealous. I'm sorry."

Fang's black eyes searched hers. "You're serious?" She nodded. "I could never replace you Max," he said quietly. "Not in a million years. I need you too much. And I want you to know that as well as you know me, because as long as I'm alive there will be nothing more honest that I've ever said."

She averted her eyes. "Maybe now's not the best time to tell you. But. I…" she trailed off. "Dylan and I. We're… a thing. Now."

Her cheeks blushed scarlet in the moonlight. Fang nodded slowly. It wasn't anything he didn't know.

"Dylan's an ass," he said before even thinking about it. He blanched, unaccustomed to speaking before acting. Max burst out laughing, holding a hand over her mouth as she snorted. She slapped her knee and now Fang blushed for perhaps the first time in his life.

Several moments went by as Max tried to banish the giggles blossoming in her gut and Fang tried to hide the blush. "Anyways," he said, "How are the others? Is Angel misbehaving? Nudge overdressing? Total singing? Iggy and Gazzy making anything explode?"

Max waited a moment, then shook her head. "Not really. Of course Total sings, but… we're all fine."

This tore at Fang's heart. He was glad that the flock was okay, but at the same time he was crestfallen by how easily they seemed to be carrying on. "Nudge has more clothes now, so she's happy," Max continued. " And Iggy is, well, calm. As always. But he's happy enough I guess. He just sorta makes things out of stuff he finds, like compasses and wind chimes, that sort of thing. And Gazzy and Angel are getting along better now. If you watch them, the way they play now, it's like they're normal little kids. It's amazing."

That did sound pretty amazing. Angel wasn't one of those kids often categorized as "_normal_," if even "_sane_." Again, Fang couldn't decide if he was happy or disappointed. He shook his head, and though he knew the question would further muddle his feelings he asked, "What about you, Max? How are _you _doing?"

Her brown eyes flicked over the scenery. Her shoulders sagged as if a weight had just been set there. "Tired," she sighed. "I'm usually too caught up in it all to realize just how exhausted I am. But other than that, I've been okay. Sometimes Dylan and I just glide around and- and it makes me feel better. Less tired. Yeah… I guess I'm contented."

Fang nodded slowly. "That's great," he said. "Then it sounds like you guys are all pretty happy."

Max looked down and stabbed at the bottom of the empty carton with her spoon. "That's the thing," she muttered. "Everything is so peaceful. Sometimes I'll sit there, in the middle of a green forest clearing, the sky sapphire blue and the clouds like cotton balls, and the breeze trickling through the limbs and branches just touches Iggy's chimes, and it clacks and breathes so gently, and it's the only sound I can here. Then I just think, 'The apocalypse is coming. It's here. It's waiting.' And it's all so blissful, and everyone is so happy… it just doesn't seem right. That all of this is going to crumble to ash in a few days because I don't know what to do."

She turned to face him, her eyes shining. "I don't know what to do."

A moment later she was wrapped in his arms, sobbing silently into his chest. Fang stroked her hair, his heart convulsing. He had wanted to hold her like this for so long. He just hadn't hoped it would be like this. "I'm lost Fang," she croaked. "There's this whole giant world out there and I don't know where to go to save it."

Fang took her chin in his hand. "Max. You're not lost. You're just not looking."

She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

He let out a breath of air he'd been holding for a long time. "I mean you've been here too long. You've been here, hoping things will be normal, that the kids will turn out like kids and not maniacs."

"Why wouldn't I want that?" Max asked, incredulous.

"Because we're birds," he said. "We're not people. We have wings. We fly, and zip around the world to avoid death, or boredom. We fight bad guys and eat a zillion calories a day. We have raptor vision and cannot for our lives drive a vehicle of any kind. Do you really want them to believe they can just _blend_ with normal people?"

She studied the branch below her. "No."

"It's time to save the world, Max." He stood up, light enough not to snap the branch and send them both tumbling into sharp twigs. He extended his hand and looked her in the eye. "Are you with me?"

She pressed her lips together and stood, taking his hand only after she was on her feet. She returned his steady gaze. "I'm with you."

They stepped apart and leaped from the tree, spreading their wings to catch the air and hold them up. They wove and spun, circling until finally they landed in the clearing where the others were rolled up in sleeping bags. It was dark, but the two felt their way over to a tree where Max handed Fang a blanket and pillow, then curled into her own sleeping bag. Fang looked around at the warm bodies and down at his pillow Had he done the right thing? His heart still beat double-time from holding Max; he knew he had. But he couldn't shake the feeling of homelessness, being the odd one out. He had resigned from his spot in the flock, where he had been gladly replaced and more. They didn't miss him. They didn't need him. He had probably hurt them, but now that was a wound scabbed over, nothing more than a blemish on the skin. Why should he make them open that blemish?

But no. Max needed him. She wanted him there, with her. The wound he had left on her was still open, and he would swear to do whatever he could to close it again, to narrow the gap that stretched like a chasm between them. He would be there, he decided, putting his pillow down. He would give Max everything she needed until the day the Earth stopped spinning.

And so it would.


End file.
